


Lessons in Loyalty, Humility, and Family

by TwinKats



Series: ThorKink Fills [5]
Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Severe Depression, Suicide, attempted suicide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-09
Updated: 2013-11-09
Packaged: 2017-12-31 22:52:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 11,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1037327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwinKats/pseuds/TwinKats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The moment it clicks that Odin intends to banish Thor, Loki blurts out the worst thing possible.</p><p>"My hand turned blue!"</p><p>It all went downhill from there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

For the first time Loki was not sure where things had gone wrong. He could not pinpoint where in the course of actions everything took the twisting turn that left him here, secluded and broken and fearful. He could not pinpoint how things went from happy to bleak and grey and withered. He honestly wasn’t sure if he even wanted to.  
  
 _“Please, Loki, come out…”_  Frigga would speak from the hallway but Loki never paid her heed. He just remained curled into a corner. His hair a mess, his cheeks stained with tears. He was hungry, and tried, but he neither slept nor ate. What use was there? He was just an unwanted  _freak._  
  
For the first time Loki was not sure where things had gone wrong, but he knew where things had gotten worse.  
  


* * *

  
  
They had just arrived back from Jotunheim. Odin had dismissed the Warriors Three and Lady Sif and all that remained behind in the Observatory was Loki and Thor and Odin. Thor and Odin were liable to spit fire at one another, and Loki was just  _there._  A shadow and silent, watching the proceedings with wary eyes as his fingers deftly touched his bare arm.  
  
His thoughts were awhirl, wondering why his skin had reacted to the Frost Giant’s touch, wondering why it had turned blue, wondering why the guard had taken so long to get Odin, wondering why Odin had taken so long to arrive. And yet he still followed the furious words being spat between Father and Son.  
  
“There won’t be a kingdom to protect if we are afraid to act!” Thor was trying to be persuasive, Loki thought faintly as his brash older brother spoke. “The Jotuns must learn to fear me! Just as they once feared you!” He’s failing, Loki realizes. Thor just can’t be persuasive. Not like Loki.  
  
“That’s pride and vanity talking, not leadership,” Odin rebutted. Loki flinched, just lightly, because if he thought about it, really, it was pride and vanity that lead to this entire course of actions. Loki’s pride and Loki’s vanity. “You’ve forgotten everything I taught you! About a warriors patience!”  
  
“While you wait and be patient, the nine realms laugh at us!” Thor says and Loki nearly winces. His fingers tighten on his wrist before letting go, his gaze drifting away. The one for Mischief wants to interrupt, to tell Thor that no, the nine realms don’t laugh at Asgard. They laugh at Thor, they laugh at Loki. Because Loki causes mischief and Thor inevitably gets swept up in it. They don’t laugh at Asgard.  
  
Thor continues on about the old ways being done, about Odin’s penchant for speeches, and Loki feels a headache brewing. Was his brother deaf and dumb? He was only inciting their father’s wrath. Then again Odin and Thor were quite alike in temper if not in temperament.  
  
It makes Loki wonder if he should interrupt now before things get too heated. All he wants is a bed, after all. A bed, some food, some warmth to chase away the cold, and then to ponder and figure out why his skin changed to that of a Jotun’s flesh.  _Maybe_  to get some answers, as well. He needed answers, too, after all.  
  
Besides he already knew how the Frost Giants got in, not like he’d say that though. Now wouldn’t be the best of time to mention such things, not with his father and brother read to kill something.  
  
So he thinks of the best way to get their attention just as things turn even more sour.  
  
“You are a vain, greedy, cruel boy!” Odin swears. Loki knows Thor won’t take this well.  
  
He is proven right, again.  
  
“And you are an old man and a fool!” Thor snarls right back and Odin sighs.  
  
“Yes, I was a fool. To think you were ready.”  
  
Loki should interrupt now, he thinks, before either does something they’ll regret. Hesitant (because really he’s in the presence of two  _very alpha males_  in a  _very alpha male mindset_ right now) Loki says, “Father?”

Odin roars at him and for the first time in years Loki is frightened of his own father. He takes a shocked step back, his eyes going wide. His heart thuds loudly in his chest. He is terrified, but Loki is not sure why he is so scared. It is his own father, after all. He swallows and backs up. Perhaps he should just watch the proceedings for now. Watch and ponder and figure out how to fix this whole mess.  
  
It’s what Loki does best.  
  
But then things turn even more sour and fear grips his heart even tighter. The way the words are exchanged, the way Odin is speaking, gives him pause. It is as if Odin plans to exile Thor, to banish Thor from Asgard on the brink of war….  
  
The thought makes Loki sway, just a bit. He didn’t mean for Thor to be  _banished!_  It was just a trick, just to show Father that Thor  _wasn’t_  ready, he couldn’t be ready. He had never meant for things to go this way! He had to stop it, Loki had to put a stop to this before his Father does something that he regrets and things get worse.  
  
But Loki can’t think of what to say, of what to do, to put a stop to things. His fingers somehow subconscious wrap around his bare arm again and without a thought Loki raises his head and yells, terrified, “ _My hand turned blue!_ ”  
  
The whole room seems to just pause, Odin stops in his very tracks and turns towards Loki, questioning  _why_  the second born would interrupt. The words spill from Loki’s lips, for once not sweet lies of honey but bitter and terrifying truths. He’s scared of what this could mean, and he honestly hadn’t meant to bring about the very question of why this was right now, but if it got Thor out of trouble….  
  
“In Jotunheim,” Loki continues shakily. “Volstagg yelled at us to not let the Frost Giants touch us, you saw how his arm was frostbitten? One of them caught me, father, and my armor broke away. I could not pull myself free and then, when its fingers touched my flesh I…my skin is not frostbitten! It turned  _blue!_  Why would—why would my skin change like that at a Jotun’s touch? Am I cursed?”  
  
Here everything begins to spiral, and here everything gets  _worse._


	2. Chapter 2

Thor knew where exactly things went wrong.  
  
Loki, that damned trickery little snake in the grass. Things went wrong the minute Father brought Loki home all those years ago. He didn’t know why he couldn’t see it, why he didn’t realize the truth. It was so  _obvious_  in hindsight, really. It’s always been so obvious.  
  
Thor should never have trusted Loki. The reveal that happened in the Observatory only proved that.  
  


* * *

  
  
He was frozen in shock; his accoutrements and armor were half-torn and taken away from him, but whatever his father had been planning halted thanks to Loki. Thor would have breathed a sigh of relief if the words that spilled from Loki’s lips didn’t rend his heart in fear.  
  
 _Loki’s hand had turned blue at a Jotun’s touch?_  What sort of trickery was this? Surely Loki jested!  
  
Thor glanced at his father, wondering how he might react to this news, but Odin appeared stricken. Thor swallowed heavily at that. It was just a joke, was it not? So why was his father like this? So resigned and at a lost? Why did the air feel like something horrible was just about to happen?  
  
“Loki…” Odin said softly, and Thor thought with a slight surge of jealousy, Odin always spoke to Loki softly. Much softer than Odin ever spoke with Thor.  
  
“Am I cursed?” Loki reiterated, his eyes wide and fearful and his lips were trembling. Distantly Thor realized Loki was terrified of the thought.  
  
“No, Loki,” Odin shook his head.  
  
“Then…then what am I?” Loki demanded, his arms shook, and Thor suddenly felt like a shadow on the wall. He was witnessing something that he should not witness. He shouldn’t  _be_ here, in this private conversation.  
  
But Thor didn’t try to leave, he stood stock still and frozen, curious to spite himself. It’s like watching something very bad happen and being unable to stop it.  
  
There is silence in the Observatory broken only by the slightest of whimpers and pained breaths. Odin does not answer Loki’s question, and Thor thinks its because there really is no way to answer Loki’s question. What is Loki is not something easily answered, except that Loki is Loki and he will always be Loki, Thor’s brother.  
  
“ _Tell me!_ ”  
  
The roar startles both Odin and Thor. Thor nearly leaps back, having never before seen his brother so twisted and angry and terrified all at once. Loki was always the composed one, with a grin on his face, a smile in the heart. To see his brother like this makes Thor think of a littler Loki who was afraid of the dark, the thunder and the storms, not that Loki would ever admit to such times.  
  
“You are my son,” Odin assures and Thor relaxes just lightly.  
  
It is all Thor needs to hear, but for Loki it is not enough. The younger pushes, presses, demands more than Odin might be able to give. Thor can almost see Loki’s brain moving at a million times the speed of light, jumping forward with connection after connection, but still lacking that one answer he needs.  
  
Thor is completely forgotten in the chaos of the revelations.  
  
“The casket wasn’t the only thing you took from Jotunheim that day, was it?” Loki asks and his voice barely wavers. Thor, who knows his brother better than anyone, knows this truly does not bode well for how things will end.

He glances to his father, wishing to see what the elder has to say. Would Odin deny the accusations? Or would Odin bring forth to light something terrible that will shake the very earth they stand on. That will try and test the family.  
  
“No,” Odin utters and it takes all of Thor’s miniscule restraint not to yell out in shock. There was  _more_  that Odin had taken from the Frost Giants? Why had he, the one who would be King, not been told? “In the aftermath of the battle, I went to the temple, and I found a baby. Small for giants offspring. Abandoned. Suffering. Laufey’s son.”  
  
“Laufey’s son?” Loki repeats, almost weakly.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
Thor doesn’t quite make the connection. He can’t see what apparently Loki can see. He doesn’t understand, what was this about Laufey’s son? Did Odin kill the child? Thor wonders if he would ever love his father if Odin had killed a child, be it Frost Giant or not. Children are precious, even Thor realizes that.  
  
It is with Loki’s next words that Thor makes the connection that his brother had already found, and it is here that Thor loses the little restraint he had left.  
  
“Why?” Loki asks, and his voice wavers. “You were knee deep in Jotun blood. Why would you take  _me?_ ”  
  
Thor cannot contain himself any longer and he roars out, furious, “ _WHAT?!_ ”  
  
The next thing Thor knows his father has taken Mjolnir from his grasp (and Thor wonders why Loki is back against the walls of the Observatory, eyes wide and terrified and on the ground oh so undignified) and Thor is on his knees being yelled at and told to go to his room like a naughty child.  
  
“I will deal with you later, Thor!” Odin swears and tosses Thor out onto the Bridge.  
  
In his rooms Thor will sit down and wonder where things went all wrong, and what just happened. He’ll remember that after his yell he raised Mjolnir towards Loki and cursed Loki out. It was Loki’s trickery that brought Loki into the house of Odin. It was Loki’s fault that the Frost Giants have attacked. This war was Loki’s doing, for Loki is not a true Asgardian but a thief hiding as his brother.  
  
Loki was never Thor’s brother and there and then Thor disowned Loki and attacked Loki and Odin had to stop him.  
  
In his room, confined and weakened and without his honor, Thor will think back and with a roar, Thor will agree.  
  
It is all Loki’s fault.


	3. Chapter 3

Sometimes Loki wonders how he can have any tears left to cry. He knows by the pangs and clamors of his own stomach that he hasn’t been out of his room in days. He knows he’s remained curled in this corner like a skittish and frightened cat, and that his doors remained locked thanks to his magic.  
  
He also knows that his magic is waning, and with it so is his sense of self. He stares at the door with a mixture of longing and terror, his face his pathetic and he feels rage building inside him for a minute. Then its back to despair as his falls into a fevered memory of Thor hurling Mjolnir into his chest.  
  
 _“You are no brother of mine, you Jotun bastard!”_  Loki hears him swear and he shakes again, fresh tears spilling down his cheeks. In his mind Odin does not come to his aide, Odin does not remove Thor of his hammer, but allows Thor to beat him bloody and blue.  
  
In his mind Loki dies, and Loki thinks that he’d prefer it that way, instead of being here and fearing for his own life, fearing what Odin will do to him now, what Thor will do to him. Fearing that he’ll be tossed out as soon as they come to their senses, as soon as they realize that  _he_  is really the true reason war is here, now, on their doorsteps.  
  
As soon as Odin discovers that it was Loki who let the giants in, that it was Loki who let them get that far, that it was Loki who betrayed his trust all for a  _stupid, senseless, prank!_  
  
Loki hears the knocks at the door and he cowers back, scrambling and wondering if his magic had failed now. Surely they had come to kill him? He wonders why it gets hard to breathe with that thought, why fresh hot tears spill down his cheeks and burn his skin.  
  
 _“Loki? It’s Sif.”_  
  
Loki makes no sound, he remains quiet, his eyes wide for one second and then he scrunches them shut. He tries to tell himself not to get hopeful. Thor has spurned their minds against him, they were always Thor’s friends so  _of course_  Thor has spurned their minds.  
  
Just as Thor will turn Odin. Perhaps he should find a way to end it all? Take it out of their hands, yes, Loki thinks. That’s a good plan. He’ll go on his own terms, no one elses. The racing of his heart calms at the thought. His mind quiets and soothes.  
  
 _“Please, Loki, your mother worries.”_  
  
His chest pangs, sharply, and for a second Loki forgets to breathe. He mouths  _‘mother?’_  but he’s starting to feel just a bit numb with the resolve he found not seconds before.  
  
 _“Well…here’s some food outside for you. At least eat.”_  
  
Loki doesn’t even hear Sif’s footsteps as she leaves. He doesn’t hear his own ragged breathing, nor feel anything but a numbing calm as his mind pulls up idea after idea. His lips curl into a slightly maddened sad smile, his own salty tears almost licked away. Soon he will be free of this terror and pain and soon he won’t fear.  
  
And everyone else will be happy when Loki is gone. Father will make amends to Thor and Thor will get his rightful place back. Maybe Mother will miss him but he doubts it. He really doubts it.  
  
(well, no, he doesn’t doubt it, really; he knows she’ll miss him and he knows somewhere this isn’t the way to go about things, but he’s too far gone in his own mind with hungered and slightly fevered delusions for not even Loki can realize he’s worked himself into illness out of fear)  
  


* * *

  
  
“It’s been three days and nothing has been done about this rift in Odin’s house,” Fendral sighs. He doesn’t even attempt to stop Volstagg from eating his own frustrations away. He’s already tried, before, and it hasn’t worked.  
  
Hogan frowns and replies, “Thor isn’t seeing reason, either. He claims Loki is not Loki.”  
  
Volstagg bites viciously into the venison before him as Sif enters the room and settles down.  
  
“Any news?” Fendral asks, lightly, but Sif shakes her head.  
  
“He still refuses to come out of his room,” she mutters. “And Thor is confined to his. Frigga says that she can’t even get through to the Allfather on this matter. And we’re on the brink of war, too! I fear that things are only going to get worse before they get better, Fendral.”  
  
Volstagg makes an almost pitiful whine at the thought.


	4. Chapter 4

Thor sits in his room, grumbling and frustrated. He doesn’t understand why everyone else isn’t  _listening._  He doesn’t get how they can’t  _see_  what he sees. That beast is not Loki; it is not his brother (and he fears it never was, if Loki had ever existed in the first place) but no one hears his cries. No one  _understands._  
  
His father contained him to his room and has not been heard from. His mother visited him once, but as he raged to her about the changeling that parades as ‘brother’ waiting for the opportune moment to strike, she had grown stiffer, and considerably colder to him. Then, as he was saying just what they should do to the traitor that hides in Asgard flesh she stood, abruptly, and stormed right up to him. There Frigga, his mother, the ever-voice of reason (because Loki was never a voice of reason, Thor sees this now)  _slapped_  the mighty Thor right across his face.  
  
Thor swore there were tears in her eyes, and he swore she had  _something_  to say, but Frigga said nothing. His mother said nothing, she just  _stared_  at him, as if she had never seen him. She then left, and has yet to return. That was the first day.  
  
Thor isn’t quite sure how many days have passed since. After the first three or so the days began to blur together. He was confined to one space (Odin had yet to rescind the house-arrest, or room-arrest as it were) and his only knowledge that a day had passed was the sun set and sunrise. If he was asked he could not accurately tell you how many had truly passed, he didn’t register them anymore.  
  
The only other people to visit him are the Warriors Three and Lady Sif. Each time they come, asking  _him_  to see reason. That Loki  _is_  his brother. He tries to tell them that that is not _Loki_  but an imposter with Loki’s face, if Loki had ever really existed in the first place. Each time the Warriors Three leave saddened. Lady Sif ends up spitting in his face, or slapping him like his mother.  
  
She stays away for a while, but eventually she returns unlike his mother, to try again. She and the Warriors tell him that Loki (that imposter) has remained in his room. He refuses to eat, to talk, to come out. He wastes away.  
  
Thor warns them its all a trick. It has to be. Loki eats, Loki leaves, Loki plots.  _He’s planning the end of Asgard,_  he says.  
  
They don’t believe him.  
  
In the end it is only Thor that sees the truth, and nothing he does can sway them. And so he waits, and waits, until he is proven  _right._  
  
Because Thor knows he will.  
  
Until he doesn’t and is proven  _wrong._  
  


* * *

  
  
It is late one night, sometime down the road of this farce, that Loki visits. For all that the Thunderer has lost his strength and honor, he has not lost the skill of a warrior, that to awaken at the softest of sounds. At the time he did not know it was Loki at his door, all he heard were footsteps coming to rest. Thor remains silent, wrapped in extravagant furs in his large bed.  
  
He strains his ears slightly, trying to catch the soft breathing like he once was able (but no longer can, that is lost to him, like his strength and Mjolnir) and nearly jumps at the thud that echoes against the door. It is  _loud_  but not that loud. It is loud because Thor was expecting a softer sound, and strained too hard, and so was startled.  
  
He swears he can almost hear the hitch of a breath, maybe the drip of tears or water. A slightly hoarse voice begins to speak, and Thor hears such  _pain_  there. Like the being on the other side of his door is dying of some terrible great wound, weakened and so  _broken._  All hope is lost.

“I…” the being speaks, then whines, and later Thor will connect the voice to Loki, although he knows not how  _that_  sound could come from Loki’s lips. Its like the dying whimper of some animal and Thor feels some instinct, some  _urge_  to  _protect._  
  
There is a loud and shuddering breath and the being, Loki, on the other side of the door speaks anew, “I know you do not…wish to hear from me…ever again…so I…shall make this as…brief as possible, br— _Thor._  Although I do not think you are listening…” There’s a shuddering, bitter laugh at that. “…I will admit to fault,” he whispers, loud enough to be heard clearly. “I…was jealous. You were always so… _radiant._  You had their…their love, while I…I had nothing, you see?  _Nothing but shadows and scorn._ ”  
  
Another bitter laugh, softer this time, reaches Thor. It twists his heart, a painful thing and Thor feels—he feels—he doesn’t understand what it is he feels.  
  
“It  _is_  my fault, I know…if he hadn’t taken me…then I would…I would be dead. I’m  _supposed_  to be dead…borrowed time. It was  _always_  borrowed time. I didn’t know it until now…the silences and coldness and distances and lack of any trust should’ve told me, don’t you think? They hail me as  _silver-tongue_ , as the  _lie-smith_ , the one who  _tricks_ …and they are right. I had not realized I was good enough to…to trick myself, even. But I have.”  
  
Thor catches a slight movement, and he shifts just a bit in the bed, curling closer to the door.  
  
“I tricked myself into…into thinking I was  _loved_ , but I realize now…that it is all a lie. I’m a tool…but I…I don’t…I don’t  _want_  to be, Thor! I just…I always I—you—you were so _radiant_ , yes? I wanted that I—I wanted to—to—to…” There is that pained whimper, and an almost groan of agony. Then, whispered, “ _I’ve always been jealous, but I’ve alwaysloved you Thor. Don’t forget that, please? Don’t forget…no, forget me. You…you have to. I’ll be gone and things will be right again. You’ll see…you’ll see brother. I’ll fix this…Iwill.  
  
Goodbye…brother…Thor….”_  
  
There is a soft sigh and a slight ruffle of clothes and then the footsteps are walking away, hurried. Thor hears these but he’s frozen, pulled into a sitting position the minute the voice became the barest of a whisper, straining to hear  _more._  All the while his chest feels  _too tight_  and he can’t quite figure out the meanings behind the words until something splatters against his wrist.  
  
Thor glances down to see a faint drop fading away, and then he feels something against his lips. His tongue darts out and tastes salt as he stars at his hand. Another drop, and he watches the liquid in an almost trance as it slides down his wrist and vanishes, slowly.  
  
 _I’m crying,_  he realizes,  _but why? What is there to cause me tears? The loss of Loki, who never was? The loss of my friends, who refuse to listen? The loss of my mother, who can’t bear to look at me, for whatever reason? The loss of my father who chains himself to his own room, readying for war? The loss of Mjolnir, my strength, my honor? Those do not incite tears. Rage…anger…but not this pain. Never this pain…._

_It is a pain, Thor realizes. It is an _agony._  It rips through his chest and his sternum and chokes to a stop at his throat. He is become by wracking heaves of his body, gasping for breath. He wonders if a spell has been cast upon his form, but he feels no magic (and could he, anyway, in his diminished state?) and so he discards the thoughts.  
  
It is then things become  _obvious_ , in this twilight hour, stricken by pure  _anguish_  that he does not understand. It is here Thor realizes the turn of his thoughts, and it is here Thor sees what he  _hadn’t_  before.  
  
Frigga, his mother, refusing to speak or see him.  
  
Lady Sif, and her anger at him, but always returning to speak her mind, to get him to  _see,_  and always mentioning  _Loki_ , that wretch.  
  
The Warriors Three and their words, trying to turn him from his thoughts.  
  
The mention of Odin having been locked in his study for days, how it breaks his mothers  _heart._  How Frigga waits outside Loki’s door for  _hours_  a day just waiting to see that _imposter._  
  
Where there was once rage, there is now a calm sort of numb shock.  
Everything is unfeeling to Thor now, and he doesn’t understand how he couldn’t see that before. He couldn’t see what was there, before him, and what his friends were trying to do.  
  
 _Everything,_  he thinks,  _is broken. Torn. Shattered. And there is no way to fix it, because what was once radiant and golden…was completely broken.__


	5. Chapter 5

It has taken Loki the better part of what he guesses is a day to plan everything out, his mind working at a furious, if a bit sluggish, pace to wrest various chinks in the plan, and then figure up as many back up plans as possible if this one fails, or part of this one fails, along the line somewhere. Of course the opportune moment to enact his plan doesn’t come for another two days.  
  
To be honest Loki doesn’t really mind the delay, it helps him to build his resolve so that when he  _does_  get the chance to leave, unseen, he is completely set in his goals. He will not falter. He will not fail.  
  
Loki will die this night, this morn, and then everything, everyone—Frigga, Odin, and Thor—will be able to heal and reconcile because the  _problem_ , the  _thing that was keeping them apart_ , because  _Loki_ , is finally gone.  
  
It was borrowed time, anyway. Loki should have died all those years ago as an infant, when he was first purportedly abandoned. Perhaps Laufey saw what his son would be in the end and decided to get rid of the problem right away. Perhaps runty Jotun were heralds of troubling times, and that was why they are rightly abandoned.  
  
Loki twitches faintly as he slips out of his bedroom. A very tiny part of him  _craves_  to head right to the library and research the ‘runt Jotun equals herald of troubling times’ theory,  _and then_  to sneak though the hidden paths of Yggdrasil to Jotunheim  _just to ask the Jotuns for extra assurance_. Loki  _needs_  knowledge and  _needs_  to understand  _everything_ , like the Aesir _need_  battles and glory and fighting, even spectacle fights that oftentimes are just as deadly as the battlefield. It is an innate part of  _Loki._  
  
It takes quite a bit of his own control to hold  _back_  that impulse, to stop the turning of his footsteps for the library.  _Knowledge_  is akin to  _satisfied curiosity_  and Loki is  _constantly curious_. Even in this state of numbness a portion of Loki can’t help but think of various possibilities, various  _theories_ , and  _yearns_  to uncover the mysteries of the vastness of Yggdrasil.  
  
His feet take a slightly new path whilst he is off in his mild internal struggle (mild because Loki has had quite a lot of practice in curbing his urges of  _need to know now_  for years, after all) and almost against his wishes Loki finds himself coming to a rest outside of Thor’s door. He swallows heavily, and some sort of weight settles in his chest. He feels oddly cold, oddly still and oddly quiet.  
  
Loki wonders why his feet brought him here, he knows Thor does not wish to see nor hear him ever again. His bro— _Thor_  does not care for Loki anymore. Not since Fa— _Odin_  had stated his true heritage, that day.  
  
His eyes water, and he hides them behind their lids, but Loki can’t stop the tears from falling. He never can stop the tears….  
  
The Liesmith’s head thumps against the door, and he takes in a shuddering breath, and chokes on words that want to come but  _can’t_. His shoulders shake just slightly, and all he can hear is  _Thor_  and all he can feel is  _Mjolnir_  slamming into his chest and all he can  _think_  is  _ThorhatesmehehatesmemybrotherhatesmeI’mamonstershouldjustdiewhywon’tIdie?_  
  
Loki opens his mouth and the words come, stunted and disjointed, and then they spill forth from his  _broken_  and  _monstrous_  and  _so evil_ soul. He can’t stop, even if he wanted to. Not now.  
  
All he can do is  _promise_  to fix things, because this is  _all his fault_  and he damn well knows it. So he hardens his resolve as he talks, and he knows…he knows the truth deep within his very  _bones._  
  
Loki dies this night, and all of Asgard will awaken to find his remains. There will be peace within the House of Odin, and the war will be won.  
  
Because Loki dies this night.

* * *

  
An hour later, Asgard awakened to a shrill scream.  
  
 _“LOKI!”_


	6. Chapter 6

Gudný sits behind a simple desk in the Healing Chambers of Odin’s palace; she reads her books and watches the chambers during the night. She is only minor among the many Aesir and Asgardian’s that live in Asgard, a Healer by trade and right, a night owl and efficient watchwomen. She guards the sick and ill and dying until the daylight comes and another Healer, or even the Lady Eir, arrives and relieves her of her duties.  
  
It is a silent, boring task, and very little ever happens during the long nights. The sick and ill and dying slumber, hardly needing her to do much of  _anything_  accept administer their cures for ailments or something equally benign. This is why she is constantly seen with her nose in her book.  
  
This night her ever watchful eyes do not spy the intruder to the Healing Chambers until he has passed the threshold. Gudný starts stand, ready to help either another ill or fight off a trespasser (because she is as much a  _guard_  for these sick, as well as their healer during the long nights) and freezes, mid-motion, as her gaze catches a dilapidated Prince Loki.  
  
She opens her mouth to speak, to ask what she can do for her Prince, but Loki raises a hand. It is glowing with the gentle light of spellfire and there are whispered words on the wind. They hang about her ears like a cloud or blanket, gently soothing and softening. Her eyes droop and she does not see the runes that are carved into the air as she slips off, folding her hands and pillowing her head upon them.  
  
Within moments Gudný is asleep, and Loki free to pillage the stores of the Healing Chamber for his use.  
  


* * *

  
  
His hands are shaking so much that it is hard to get a grip on the bottles and vials and bowls and cups and everything little thing that holds the various herbs, tinctures, and remedies. Loki does not know why his hands shake so, just that they do. In fact his whole body is trembling as he carries item after item over to a simmering fire and set of instruments that are oddly similar to a Midgarian chemistry set, or ancient alchemy set, or both.  
  
He mixes ingredients and remedies and other random bits and bobs together, muttering phrases under his breath that crackle and pop with the energies of his magic. What Loki makes is a potion or a poison, meant to weaken the very barriers and energies he had woven into his being that make him  _so very hard to kill_. It is a trade of a sorcerer or a magician to make themselves as near invincible as they can, because when compared to a warrior like Thor or one of the other many warrior Aesir, a magician can go down fairly quickly if they are not fast enough to incapacitate the enemy.  
  
Loki is pretty sure that the magics he wove into his own skin, his body, that enables and promotes healing and stability and strength and any number of things to incite his own survival, have given him the chance to survive his own  _head_  being chopped off, at the price of a stiff neck. It isn’t  _tested_  of course because why would Loki wish to rend himself headless just to be sure the magics work? It is foolishness, because what if they  _don’t_? Then Loki is dead and all his work for naught.  
  
Not that any of it matters anymore because Loki is brewing and concocting the one thing to weaken all his spells and enchantments and works. He  _needs_  to be less impossible to kill if he wants to kill himself. There is too high a chance he would just walk away from the encounter unscathed if he didn’t do this.

His fingers work deftly, despite their shaking and oftentimes refusal to twist and turn and clasp just right, and all too soon the mixture is bubbling over. He is not fast enough and some of the steaming liquid taps his fingers. Loki hisses and pulls back, then shifts forward to twist off the fire and grabs a pair of tongs. Quickly, as his mixture cools, he pours it into a vial and puts a cork on top. Loki does not bother in setting down the instruments gently as he grabs his vial of poison and potion and flees the Healing Chamber.  
  
His sleeping spell on the women will only last so long, and Loki needs to get somewhere  _safe_  to implement the last bit of his plan. It has taken meticulous planning on his part, to find the perfect grave for Loki, but he’s done it. For this reason he sneaks away in the dead of night, heading further and further into the palace, the House of Odin. He slips and slides deep into the bowels of the place, past the dungeons and further down still until he reaches the Vault.  
  
It is a Weapons Vault as much as a Treasures Vault, Loki knows. There are weapons here that the Aesir don’t dare to use unless there is war and a chance of loss, and there are treasures here that Odin has taken from his various conquests; from the wars of his youth, and the winnings therein.  
  
In the center, just before the cage that keeps the Destroyer bound, lays a gleaming blue box. It pulses with a strange, watery inner light. The cold that seeps into the Vault emanates from this box; its handles and containment a dark obsidian rock. It is the Casket of Ancient Winters, the prize of Jotunheim. Odin’s last great treasure.  
  
Odin’s last because  _Loki_  is not so much a treasure or a relic but a prisoner of war, a jotun runt living on borrowed time. Loki is a sign of strife and terrible pain and unbearable sadness.  
  
Loki finds it fitting to die here, before this casket of his supposed peoples. It is fitting because Loki should have died on the cold wastes of Jotunheim, where Ymir could witness his death as he should. Instead Loki was  _saved_  and granted borrowed time to learn what life  _could_  be like, and to see how much his existence can destroy the nine realms. So it is fitting, now that his borrowed time is up, that he die before a relic of Jotunheim, so that Ymir could witness his passing as Ymir should have originally.  
  
After all, Ymir was the first King of the Jotun’s, the founder of their society, an almost  _god_  to their peoples. By any and all rights he was Loki’s ancestor, and deserved to witness Loki’s passing. It was probably why Loki was abandoned in a temple in the first place.  
  
The Vault itself is silent save for the heavy breathing coming from Loki’s lips. His breath rattles in the slightly frigid air as he kneels down and begins to draw a runic circle. The circle with help him shape the magic, because if Loki is honest he lacks the energy to shape it without the circle by now, and as soon as he drinks his poison, his potion, he might lack the energy to even draw on the magic with the help of the circle. Loki doubts that, honestly, but its still a very real possibility. And if he can’t draw upon the magic, well, that’s why he’s in the Vault. There are weapons here that can do the job just as easily after the poison, the potion is drunk.  
  
His fingers are steady as they write the runes, but his arms shake. He feels slightly lethargic now, but Loki knows he must continue on. It is for the good of Asgard, for Thor and Odin and Frigga, that Loki does this. He  _needs_  to die, because he is a monster and the harrowing of bad luck. It is better if he was gone and not borrowing time any more.  
  
As soon as the circle is finished Loki pulls the vial out from within his clothes and uncorks it. He pauses for just a second, glass tipped towards his lips, ready to drink. A lone tear slips down his face and he whispers a bitter, “Goodbye,” swallows his poison and then utters the spell for  _fire._  
  
The flames swirl up and around and the bite into his clothes and flesh and Loki is screaming, but he’s smiling and crying all at once. This is what he  _wants_ , because this is what he _needs_. He is happy and sad all at once.


	7. Chapter 7

She was fidgeting, she knew. Moving from room to room, tidying things up in a fit of nervous energy. Sigyn couldn’t  _help_  it; she was insanely worried and insanely afraid. No one knew what had happened after the botched coronation of young Prince Thor, except that Thor was confined to his rooms, powerless and shamed. Not a word came from the House of Odin on what happened, on why Thor was being punished so.  
  
Most of all, though, was that Loki had not once stopped by to tell Sigyn what had happened. She, who had been by the young Prince’s side since he’d quite randomly teleported on top of her back when they were children. She who was an almost match for Loki in magics, who enjoyed his mischief as much at the young God did. She who was Loki’s  _best friend._  
  
And Loki had not come to tell her what had happened.  
  
Sigyn was right to worry, she knew this. Loki  _always_  told her,  _everything._  They were akin to Midgardian ‘girlfriends’ (at least she thought that was the term) who shared everything. Near ‘blood brothers’ (except for, you know, the fact that she was a women and Loki a, well, whatever the heck Loki wanted to be) and the fact that Loki had not come to speak to her was a glaring sign. It worried her.  
  
Thus the nervous energy of cleaning and moving from room to room doing random little things. She was waiting for word, from Loki or  _someone_ , insanely afraid the next thing she’d hear was that Loki had gone and killed himself, or someone had killed Loki. Perhaps Thor had ended the young Prince; that would certainly explain the silence and the punishment.  
  
“Oh I hope not,” Sigyn muttered under her breath, stopping suddenly and going pale. Her hands shook. The thought wasn’t pleasing but, well, Sigyn could see Thor doing such a thing, really. Accident or on purpose, if given enough provocation… “ _Damn!_ ” the young Goddess whirled around and raced to the room where she kept all her spell ingredients.  
  
She had to be sure Loki was okay, that he was  _alive._  Because if he wasn’t…if Thor had killed him…well, no one would be saved from the Wrath of Sigyn, and Odin would be down two sons.  
  


* * *

  
  
Sif could not sleep. The air seemed to be charged with energy, uncomfortable and electrifying and completely out of character for what had been happening. It ruined any chances of slumber, restless as it was during these several days with the rift in Odin’s house.

Sif sighed softly, settling down in the seat of the armoire, snatching up the brush and running it through her dark locks. A slightly bitter smile crossed her face as she ran the brush. Loki had given her these dark locks; how she had  _hated_  him for that but then….  
  
 _He stands before her head bowed and lips sewn bloodied shut, but in his grasp, offered like an olive branch, is a fine wig of golden hair. Sif’s voice refuses to work, her eyes are wide and something feels tight around her neck. It’s like she can’t quite breathe.  
  
Loki stands here, before her, damaged and unable to speak, bloodied and obviously sporting a smarted pride, and still offers her the wig. She does not know what to say, or to do, or even how to tell Loki that she doesn’t mind the darker locks anymore. That he did not have to get her this wig, he should not have brought himself to harm.  
  
She wonders where this hidden, gentlemanly Loki has been their whole lives. This young Prince who will gladly take his lips sewn shut for a few gifts, and then takes the ridicule offered by those who should be his friends, and still wish to offer her the gift he brings back?_  
  
Sif swallowed and looked away from the mirror. Her brush clattered onto the top of the armoire, and she can see the wig, nestled in a corner. The gift from Loki all those years ago, and she can’t help but think  _it’s not fair. It’s not._  
  
It doesn’t even register to Sif that she’s standing up and moving out of the room (a guest room of sorts, because she was promised to Thor) and down the hall at a fast clip, heading straight for Loki’s room. She’ll even knock down his damn door if he won’t open it, because she’s had  _enough_  of Loki hiding away.  
  
She’s going to tell him exactly what she thinks of him, every true thought, and apologize for how  _rude_  she was to him all these years because  _he really never quite deserved it so much._  The only problem is that as soon as she breaks in the door (its oddly  _silent_  as it broke, no crack and thump) she sees the room is empty and fear grips her heart.  
  
Sif does not know what possesses her but the minute she is assured that Loki is  _not_  in his room, that there is no magic going on there; she is running down the halls in a panic trying to find the young Prince. She wonders just how  _long_  he has been gone, and that they all haven’t  _noticed._  But right now there is  _fear_  and  _terror_  and she’s doubly afraid of what might have happened to Loki.  
  
 _Hurry, hurry, hurry_  keeps going through her mind.  _I’ve got to find him, I need to find him, where is he? Not the kitchen, not the dining hall, where?_  
  
Sif does not know the path her feet take, does not feel the wind urging her on or hear the whispers telling her to go  _left, right, left, down, down, down, the vault, need to get to the vault, hurry before its too late, don’t let it be too late!_  She just races and rushes and then she’s pushing open the doors and there’s  _fire_  everywhere.

An acrid scent touches her nose, and she sees Loki kneeling and she can hear him  _screaming_  as his flesh bubbles and burns and blackens. Sif is frozen, in shocked horror, staring at him, her eyes are wide and terrified, her breath is caught.  
  
And then she’s screaming, long and loud and awakening the entire  _palace_  with a shrill and drawn out and terrified, “LOKI!”  
  
Sif dashes forward, hardly noticing as the fire extinguishes from a wind and water combination that just seemed to appear out of nowhere as she raced towards Loki. She grabs him, trying to be gentle as he falls toward the side. His eyes are closed and his breath is shallow and Sif is  _horrified_  because he’s a mass of burned and cooked flesh.  
  
But she’s so damn  _happy_  because she got here in time, at least, because now he’ll have a fighting chance  _somehow_  because the guards are coming, racing down, with Frigga and Odin and all she can do is cradle him close and cry and wonder  _why? Why do this, why Loki, why?_  
  
Insider her humble home Sigyn collapses into a sobbing mess, curled around herself with bitter tears and bitter sorrows. Her spell was almost  _too late._  
  
It still might’ve been.


	8. Chapter 8

All of Asgard was silent. The streets were empty, barren,  _dead_. Windows were closed, curtains shut; the trees were eerily still as an unseen wind whipped through crevices and pathways, silent. Even the animals dared not move or make a sound.  
  
It was as if the entirety of the Asgard—from the plants and animals to the Gods themselves—were  _mourning_. They might have well had been, too, for all that had happened and all that was  _still_  happening.  
  
All of Asgard was silent.  
  


* * *

  
  
Inside the Healing Chambers, within a specifically furnished room, lay Loki. He was unconscious, his breathing was ragged. He was badly burned, his skin crisp and blackened. There was no hair upon his head, no sound from the various instruments in the room. Just the ragged breathing, aided by the technologies and magick’s of the Healers, and Frigga’s shuddering but soft and broken tears.  
  
Several times she’d reach her hand out, to touch and grasp and stroke upon Loki’s slumbering from; his cheek, his hands. The tears that had fallen since Sif had found her son— _her son_ —in the Vault, burning and screeching and  _dying_ , had not yet abated. The Healers themselves claimed that Loki’s life was salvageable, that he  _would_  survive this, but whether he’d come out whole or further broken was another matter entirely.  
  
Understandably the Queen of Asgard had not taken this news well; she blamed Odin and Thor for Loki’s predicament, one she  _should_  have seen coming and yet for some reason was blinded to. Thor, her golden child, blinded by hatred and rage born of constant paranoia and fear that Odin had practically  _beat_  into his skull over these many, many years. She should have put a stop to it long ago, but she had held strong in the belief that everything would turn out as it should; that even if she  _had_  forewarned or tried to stop the turn of fate nothing could, nor would be able to, sway Odin from his path.  
  
Stubborn old man, she thought bitterly.  
  
And yet she still loved him, despite all this.  
  
The only redeeming thing about this entire debacle, Frigga discerned, was that Odin himself seemed to discover his heart again. Upon learning of this— _this accident_ —he’d come out of his study,  _finally_. He’d remained a vigil over Loki for a short while until Frigga had literally banned him from seeing her youngest. She shoved him out the door and delivered painful justice to certain nether regions all at once after he said something that was more degrading than Frigga wished to hear, even if he hadn't  _meant_  it that way.  
  
 _“I should have realized how utterly weak Loki was sooner.”_  
  
Hah! Loki was not  _weak_ , Frigga internally snapped as she forced her King from the Healing Chambers. He had a  _heart_  which was something Odin seemed to have forgotten all about! He cared  _too much_  and that was why— _that was why!_

 _Her fingers shook as she gently ran them along the scarred and burnt and slowly healing flesh of Loki’s cheek. He looked so wrong without his dark locks, so wrong and broken and horribly, terribly ruined.  
  
“I should have fought for you harder, my son,” Frigga whispered. “I am so sorry what has been done to you, but I’ll make it right. I swear, Loki, my darling child, I’ll make this _right_.”  
  
Loki may not have been the child of Odin’s heart, of Odin’s brawn and strength—that was reserved for Thor, obviously—but he  _was_  the child of Frigga’s heart, of Frigga’s cunning and Frigga’s smarts, and yes, of Odin’s entire ability to be a thickheaded  _moron_  too, stuck in his thoughts and his plots and tricks and plans, how else could Loki have gotten into so much trouble? He’d have to have Odin’s sheer recklessness  _somewhere_  given all the stunts he’s pulled over the years.  
  
But Loki was  _not_  Odin’s. Loki was  _Frigga’s_. Odin could keep Thor; Thor was obviously what Odin  _desired_ , brawn and nothing much else, but Frigga would be  _damned_  if she lost Loki because of Odin’s blindness to what a true gem he was.  
  
Frigga would  _not_  lose her Loki, her darling Trickster. She’d let Odin keep Thor, but she would  _not_  give up Loki.  _Never again_  would she allow this to pass.  _Never again_  would she let Loki feel as if death was the only release, the only  _hope_  at fixing things.  
  
It was time Frigga put her foot  _down_. It was time Asgard woke up, grew up, and  _got smart_. She would accept no less than total obedience in all her demands.  
  
“I’ll make things right,” she whispered, placed a kiss to Loki’s cheek, and stood up.  
  
It was time  _Odin_  did as  _Frigga__  commanded, and he would. She’d make sure of it.  
  
He wouldn’t like the alternative anyway.


	9. Chapter 9

Odin paced the length of his study. He was upset, bordering on furious. He’d been working out what to do with Asgard on the brink of war with Jotunheim; trying to discover how the Jotnar had entered Asgard when it should have been impossible. The ways out of that Realm were shut. He’d had their relic of Power here, in his Vaults, and yet on what would have been Thor’s crowning day a group of Jotnar  _had_  entered Asgard, and had remained  _hidden._  
  
Odin had at first thought the threat a  _fluke_ , a group not connected to Laufey that  _somehow_  got lucky. It was bound to happen sometime after all, but when he had arrived on Jotunheim, chasing after Thor— _that ignorant child_ —Laufey had gleefully declared war. Odin had no choice but to take the threat as it  _really_  was.  
  
(he didn’t know that Laufey’s declaration of war was pretty much a giant bluff and that those of Jotunheim had not found another means of transport or any escape off their world without the help of an outsider—specifically without the help of  _Loki_  who understood the branches of Yggdrasil in a way only Odin had, and had since buried under centuries of existence)  
  
To make matters worse Odin was weary and tired and about ready to collapse. He had been putting  _it_  (what everyone deigns to call Odinsleep) off for quite some time now, wishing to have Thor crowned and ready to man Asgard in his absence, and the only reason he had really chosen Thor over Loki was rather quite simple. Thor was older and thus more mature than his far younger brother. Loki displayed a constant childishness and with his love for pranks, well, Odin feared for Asgard with Loki on the throne.  
  
In fact he was half afraid he’d wake up to find some sort of insanely chaotic carnival or something if he left Asgard to Loki, considering how  _young_  the boy was and how  _childish_  he was and how often he resorted to  _tricks_  and  _lying_  in order to get out of something he’d done wrong. Frigga had told him that this was an entirely irrational fear, that Loki would by far be a better candidate or that it’d be even  _greater_  if Loki and Thor ruled  _together_. Odin had stared at her in sheer horror at the thought because considering Loki with Thor was waiting for disaster to happen.  
  
Sometimes the Allfather wondered what he was thinking when he decided it might be a good idea to give Frigga another child (yet again kidnapped or adopted and possibly of his loins; he wasn’t  _too_  sure if that Jotun he’d slept with one night was Laufey or not, damn tricky bastard) because quite honestly it was more trouble than any worth. He feared giving her a third, despite knowing that she’d probably demand it somewhere down the line.  
  
Although if one followed the mortal sayings the third time was supposedly the charm—or however that went; he hoped it meant that the third child would be the best behaved and absolutely perfect and he  _wouldn’t_  regret giving in to Frigga. Again. Not that he regretted Loki and Thor for when they  _weren’t_  being pains in his ass (figuratively and strangely metaphorically in some cases) they could be darling little angels and make him wonder why he ever thought having them was a terrible idea in the first place.  
  
Then something like  _this_  would happen and Odin would realize how it was a terrible idea to have children and why his father had laughed in his face after he had been married to Frigga.  _This_  being the simple fact that Thor was a moron and really  _wasn’t_  ready for the throne, especially since he was of the mind that Loki was a bastard Jotun traitor who wasn’t really his brother (which still hadn’t been proven mostly as Odin was terrified of the chance that  _yes_  Loki was of his loins) while Loki was a complete emotional wreck at the revelation of possibly one half of his genetic make-up and so thoroughly distraught with the idea that he had even attempted to commit suicide.

Of course Odin was absolutely horrified and terrified at the thought of Loki being so completely  _broken_  with the revelation of (possibly one-half of) his ancestry that it drove the boy to such depths. Or that maybe Loki’s relationship with Thor was much closer than he had even dared to think and Thor’s rejection drove Loki to such depths. Either thought nearly drove Odin into an early grave when Sif had screamed Loki’s name and Loki was discovered in the state he was currently in, half-dead but still alive, and will possibly be completely insane once he woke up,  _but_  Odin was Odin and terror and Odin didn’t generally make a good combination.  
  
It didn’t help that Odin  _also_  seemed to have forgotten he had a brain, or at least how to  _use_  it properly as the centuries wore on (he hadn’t had to think subjectively  _or_  laterally since before Thor’s birth  _and that was a very long time ago_ ) and so had uttered a  _very-stupid-thing_  in front of Frigga. This had of course the result in banning him from seeing his youngest son.  
  
Leading to now, pacing his study whilst upset, bordering on  _furious_ ; tired but unable to rest his aching bones and wondering just  _what_  he had been thinking all these years.  
  
Odin really should have left the throne to Frigga like he’d originally planned, back when everything made sense, instead of just toughing it out and  _hoping_  that Thor turned out right and not, possibly, a completely moron. Or  _hoping_  that Loki would grow up and quit acting like a child with a love of mischief paramount to driving his father completely into an early grave.  
  
So when Frigga stormed into his study with all the energy of a raging storm and all the fury of a mother looking for blood, Odin quickly uttered, “I’ll do whatever you wish, Frigga, if it will fix all of this.”  
  
Frigga smiled, her grin vicious and victorious, and Odin relaxed just a bit but still remained warily tense because that smile promised  _pain_  in acquiescing to Frigga’s demands. Especially considering the first demand straight out of her mouth was the  _one thing_  Odin had been avoiding since he brought Loki to Asgard.  
  
“Then it is time, my husband, that you tell all of Asgard the  _truth._ ”  
  
 _Well….fuck._  
  
(it took all of Odin's restraint not to whine " _do I have to?_ " pathetically to his wife)  
  


* * *

  
  
Frigga’s demands were not unreasonable. They were quite perfectly in the realm of possibility, and they would quite honestly help things run smoother. Or they would have if they had been enacted centuries ago, but stubbornness and willfulness and ignorance and a  _chronic disorder of lying_  quite honestly stopped such actions from happening so long ago. The Queen of Asgard could only console herself that they were doing things right  _now._  
  
Better late than never as the mortals say, and Frigga feared to think what would happen if they  _never_  went through with any of what she had planned. Mostly as any of her thoughts in that direction concluded with one or both of her children dead;  _especially_  her darling little Trickster.  
  
However that didn’t matter because it  _wouldn’t_  happen. Hurricane Frigga had swept through the Palace and right into Odin’s study and Odin had easily dropped down on bended knee to her righteous fury and agreed to do whatever she said. This was pleasing.  
  
Now if only she thought to turn Hurricane Frigga on him  _sooner_  then maybe this whole mess could have been avoided. Oh well, a bit of hardship never quite hurt anyone, and she needed this slap in the face as much as Odin, really. She recognized that, she accepted this pain and her fault in it all, and now she would set things to right.  
  
When Loki would awaken it would be to an entirely different Asgard. Kind of.


	10. Chapter 10

Thor paced the length of his room. It had been quite some time since someone had come by, be it Sif or the Warriors Three, or even a simple servant. The walls seemed constricting, confining, and so  _wrong._  There was a hanging silence that seemed to suffocate everything outside and  _inside_  the room.  
  
He was lost, confused, and worry was beginning to rend mince meat with his gut. Something had happened and it felt like it had happened forever ago now. In the aftermath of whatever had passed Thor had been forgotten, he realized this and his burning hunger confirmed it, but he could not leave this room. The enchantments Odin had placed upon the doors denied him that right.  
  
For the first time ever the Thunder God found himself completely in the dark. He didn’t like it. He didn’t like not knowing what was going on, why he heard Sif screaming in the early hours, or why there were thundering footsteps and roared orders. Something had happened, something big.  
  
He was…concerned. Worried.  _Terrified._  
  
Something was wrong.  
  


* * *

  
  
Sigyn had a scant few hours of rest after spending her magic to find, rescue, and insure Loki’s survival as she had. Then she was up, clothed in cottons and silks that bore Loki’s emblems—gifts from her only friend—and stalking through the silent streets of Asgard. She cloaked herself in the simplest spells of misdirection—not invisibility, that would take too much of her concentration—as she made her way swiftly towards the Palace and through the doors.  
  
It was with a purpose that she moved down the golden halls towards the Healing Chambers. Sigyn slipped passed the door as one of the bustling Healer’s left the room to gather more supplies. She weaved between guardswomen, guardsmen, and other various attendants who were working constantly on monitoring the young Prince. The minute she was next to Loki’s bedside Sigyn pulled down the white shawl that she had up over her head—Loki had always claimed white was her color; white and gold with a bit of green to show her connection to the youngest Prince because Loki was quite possessive of those he saw as  _his._  
  
Her blonde hair was tied up in a rather messy bun, strands trailing down across pale cheeks that were still ridden with tracks from her earlier tears. Seeing him here, so utterly damaged, caused her breath to hitch in her chest. Her hands ended up catching and fisting right above her breast as she murmured, “Oh my Lord Loki….”  
  
A spear was shoved in her face, a harsh, “How did you get in here?” was snapped out. Sigyn waved a hand slightly and the spear shoved sideways. On the wrist she displayed was a simple band in green with a golden embroidered set of horns.  
  
Loki’s symbol.  
  
There was a short round of almost shocked gasps that tore through the guardsmen, guardswoman, and healers. Sigyn wanted to snort at the display of unprofessionalism. Instead she moved her hand back to her breast and spoke, never once taking her golden-eyed gaze from Loki’s form.  
  
“My Lady Eir, I humbly ask you to listen to what I have to say.”  
  
An elderly woman replied softly, “You have my attention, child.”  
  
Sigyn raised her head until her golden eyes connected with Eir’s blue and said, “I know how to heal my Lord Loki.”  
  


* * *

  
  
While in the Healing Chambers Eir and Sigyn were discussing Frigga was going over all that she wanted Odin to finally admit to, including the possibility if adultery he had, had with possibly Laufey, and the further  _confirmed_  adultery with the Elder Goddess that had birthed Thor in the first place. As they talked that over Frigga went through Odin’s notes on how War might be waged against Jotunheim while subtly making suggestions towards his Sleep and leaving her in charge.  
  
Odin sighed and rubbed his fingers against his forehead; he murmured, “Frigga, I am not so blind as to not see what you are suggesting, and whilst I find no fault in your reasoning I _cannot_  while Jotunheim stands ready to march at our doors and one of my sons remains powerless and the other in the Healing Chambers of his own doing!”

Frigga frowned and set down Odin’s notes. As she took in his weary form her fingers itched for her loom. She longed to toy with the threads and weave but now, she knew, was not the time for passivity. Now was the time to act, to drive facts  _home._  
  
“Tell me All-Father, do you yet know how the Jotnar entered Asgard?”  
  
Odin frowned and he muttered, “No.”  
  
“Do you yet know what exactly happened on Jotunheim with your sons and their friends?”  
  
“No.”  
  
Frigga’s lips curled slightly as she murmured, “Then perhaps, All-Father, you should think of how those might be connected. Do you honestly think that between Loki and Thor both they would not have found possibly how the Jotnar entered Asgard? That Laufey is beyond an attempt to gloat? Did he not gloat to you about your boys seeking war?”  
  
“Thor sought war, and he has brought it,” Odin sighed, “but Laufey sought war as well…he planned and predicted this outcome and has some unknown way into Asgard.”  
  
“Does he?” Frigga demanded. “You who know every pathway, you who are All-Father, do not know of how Laufey’s men entered our Golden Halls? Is this true, Odin, or are you simply too feeble minded to remember?”  
  
Odin’s eye narrowed and he snarled out, “I have admitted fault several times tonight, wife, do not make me utter more!”  
  
She stalked closer, her lips curling in a manner that Loki had often imitated throughout the years. Frigga was pleased about something, but Odin was unsure of what. Calmly she placed a hand against his clothed chest and trailed it along his form. Her eyes sought out his as she murmured, “I do not ask you to admit fault, Odin, but to think…who else besides you possibly knows as much about the paths? Who has shown such knowledge, All-Father, or must I spell it out my Warrior King?”  
  
Odin huffed, “It does not help me any, Frigga. He is in the Healing Chambers by his own actions.”  
  
“And he will wake eventually; why not admit what you promised to Asgard, rest and allow me to handle the results, and then in a week we return to the problems of Jotunheim and War with a fresher mind? Think on it, my husband, my King…does this not seem like a feasible plan?”  
  
She leaned up until they were nose to nose, eye to eye, and near lips to lips. Odin allowed a smirk to grace his own features; he knew what she was doing, and he knew it was working. It  _was_  a rather feasible plan, as well. Worthy of the Queen of Asgard, worthy of the All-Father.  
  
“You are a seductress,” Odin murmured and pulled Frigga close, capturing her lips in a kiss. Frigga smiled, pleased, as that was as good as an agreement she would get from Odin for now.  
  
And, as they parted and she danced from the room with swaying hips, leaving Odin to prepare for the speech to Asgard, she stated lightly, “After all this is done, I demand another, Odin.” She paused to glance back at him, her eyes dancing almost with glee. “One of my  _own_  this time. Of  _my_  blood, and  _yours_. You owe me that.”  
  
She disappeared out the door with a simple twirl and a laugh at the sudden paleness of her King.  
  


* * *

  
  
Thor paced the length of his room, his hands in fists. He was hungry, he was tired, but most of all he wanted answers. Answers as to what had happened, to  _why_  this silence had taken over everything. He wanted answers as to  _Loki_  and how that Jotun bastard had slipped into the halls. He did not like waiting, like this. He did not like being confined and trapped.  
  
Most of all, deep inside and almost unacknowledged, Thor wanted answers as to why  _he_  would come to his door at night, sounding so broken and so… _defeated_  and claim he’d make things right—he wanted to know—to see….  
  
The door clicked open.


End file.
